


Words You Cannot Say in English

by allisonfunn



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Flashbacks, M/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5391644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonfunn/pseuds/allisonfunn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are words that cannot be translated into English, words that encompass so many emotions and feelings. Sometimes, both Steve and Bucky just can't express their emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Duende

**Author's Note:**

> Duende (Spanish) – the mysterious power a work of art has to deeply move a person.

It had actually been Bucky’s idea to go to the Museum of Modern Art on a mid-November morning. Steve sat at the counter, cup of coffee hugged in one hand and a tablet held in the other.

“Steve?” Came the quiet voice on his right. Steve glanced up at the clock—9:43—before looking at Bucky.

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve asked, setting his mug down as quietly as he could, placing the tablet next to it. “Why are you up this early on a Sunday? Did you have a bad—”

“Do you still draw?” Bucky interrupted, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his sweatpants. “I never see you do it anymore.”

“Of course. When I’m not too busy,” Steve said, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“So, you still like art?” Bucky shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“What are you tryin’ to say, Buck?” Steve asked.

“Can we go to a museum?” He whispered to his feet.

Steve’s face relaxed from concern into a soft smile. “Yeah, absolutely. I’ve been meaning to go to the Museum of Modern Arts, actually. When do you wanna go?”

“Can we go now?” Bucky asked, furrowing his brow and shifting his weight again. He risked a glance up at Steve.

“Of course,” Steve said, picking his tablet back up. “Let me look up when it opens, okay?”

“Are you sure?” He took a hesitant step back. “I mean, the therapist said that I—”

“Buck,” Steve said, looking up from the screen. “She said that you are fine to go out in public.” He looked back down and tapped the screen. “It opens at 10:30.” He twitched his lip up in a small smile and huffed a laugh. “Hey, there’s a senior citizen discount…”

Bucky scoffed and finally held Steve’s gaze. He was smiling too. “I don’t think that counts.” He turned the corner to go back down the hall. “I’m gonna take a shower then.”

“We’re almost a century old!” Steve called after him. “We deserve it!”

Bucky stuck his head out from around the corner. “Don’t you have an Avenger discount?”

“Do you think they’ll let us do both?” Steve teased.

“Rogers!” Bucky exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

“Go take your shower!” Steve shouted back. He heard Bucky scoff.

 

They arrived at the museum before eleven. Steve pulled out his wallet before they made it to the desk and Bucky shot him a pointed look.

“Don’t do it,” he mouthed, eyes wide.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled. Finally at the desk, Steve smiled at the woman in charge of the desk. “Two tickets please, ma’am.”

The woman smiled without her eyes and turned to type on the computer. But, she paused and turned slowly to stare at them. “Are you…?” She whispered harshly and unbelieving.

Steve tilted his head in feigned ignorance. “Am I who?” Bucky tugged his beanie further down, almost completely over his eyes and avoided eye contact.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “I guess you must not be. That’ll be fifty dollars.” Steve held out three twenty dollar bills and the woman took them.

“Keep the change. For donations,” Steve said, taking the tickets and passing one off to Bucky. The woman smiled.

“Thank you so much,” she said.

Steve nodded and turned back to Bucky.

“Thank you,” Bucky breathed. Steve grinned and was about to respond when he saw the metal detectors.

“Oh God, Buck…” Steve said, realizing. “Your—”

“They made sure it wouldn’t,” Bucky said quickly. “So I wouldn’t get caught during missions.”

Steve exhaled in relief and nodded. “Okay. Well, come on then.” Steve put his hand on Bucky’s elbow and helped direct him through the crowd. And, like Bucky said, the metal detector didn’t go off.

“Where do you want to start?” Steve asked. “It’s your choice.”

Bucky inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Um,” he said, looking around at the different exhibits. His gaze paused on a sign that stated the exhibit was interactive. “Would that be okay?”

Steve shrugged. “Whatever you want.” They walked over to the sign and Steve read it more closely. “Okay,” Steve said, turning to Bucky. “It said you can touch and pick up but don’t break anything.” He winked and pushed Bucky with his shoulder. Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes, pulling his beanie off and shoving it in his pocket.

“Who’s the real klutz, huh?” Bucky retorted.

“Look, that was once!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you break shit at the very least once a _week_ ,” Bucky grinned. “Like that coffee pot yesterday.”

“Hey now,” Steve said, raising a hand. “That doesn’t count.”

“You backhanded it against the room!”

“By accident!”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Fuckin’ shattered it.”

“I hate you,” Steve grumbled.

Bucky winked and picked up a small, bumpy ceramic orb with his right hand, left shoved deep in his coat pocket. He rubbed his thumb over its rough surface before he gently placed it back down, looking around.

“Can we touch the paintings?” He asked, motioning at one of the smaller works a group of people were crowded around with his head.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” he said, gently pressing his fingers against the dips and grooves of a piece of marble carved from the wall.

Bucky nodded, walking into the next room where there were several more paintings. When he fully entered the room, he turned and saw the wall in front of him was one large piece of art. There were large black stripes splattered against a pure white wall, also covering some of the floor in front of it. Bucky took one step forward and stumbled. He pressed his hand to the wall next to him, feeling bubbled paint underneath his fingers. He could feel his vision tunneling and he dropped to his knees, breath caught in his chest and his heart pounding against his ribcage. Someone said something, he was sure, but it sounded like it came from far away, underwater.

_He suddenly realized how cold—freezing—it was but he was also unaffected by the frigid and biting wind buffeting his exposed skin. Charred wood—and skin?—clogged his noise, causing him to need to breathe through his mouth. But the taste… He retched and steadied himself on his elbows._

“….think he slipped…” He heard someone say.

_“He slipped out of his training at the very end of the exercise,” a voice said. “He will need more **thorough** instruction to prevent this from happening again.”_

_“That can be arranged.” A hand gripped his neck and pressed him face first into the snow. He choked on tears and death and cold._

“Mr. Barnes?” A young, female voice said.

_“Sergeant Barnes,” A gruff, foreign man said. “We are disappointed. You have such potential but we feel you are not putting forth enough effort.”_

Bucky hit the ground with his left hand and felt the floor crack.

“Please,” Bucky’s voice cracked and he shook violently. “Please don’t.”

“…here, and no one wants hurt you…”

_“We want to shape you into a better weapon. We don’t **want** to hurt you. Let us mold you into something better.”Bucky’s shoulder’s sagged, tired, worn down. How long had it been? How many weeks? Months? Years?_

Bucky felt a heavy weight drop next to him and something lightly touched between his shoulders; he groaned in response, pressing his forehead harder against the smooth floor. “Stop,” he moaned out.

Steve knelt beside him and rubbed his back, looking up at the crowd surrounding them. So many eyes were staring at them—so many accusatory and angry glares, a few pitiful glances.

“What happened?” Steve asked, voice tight.

Most of the people avoided his eye contact, but one of the bystanders, a young girl, hesitantly stepped forward.

“Mr. Rogers?” She asked quietly, tugging at her sweatshirt strings.

“Yeah, I…” Steve furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry. Do you know what happened?”

The girl nodded. “I saw why Buc—Mr. Barnes fell.”

“Did someone approach him?” Steve asked, looking at Bucky’s shaking frame.

The girl shook her head. “No. It was the art.” She pointed at the white and black wall in front of them. Steve furrowed his brow deeper and opened his mouth to question further. “He saw it and froze and then he stumbled and collapsed.”

Steve studied the bleak wall and pressed his lips together. “I think I know why…”

“Is it…” The girl shifted and hesitated. “Is it because of…” She nodded at his exposed left arm. It glinted under the harsh museum lights. Steve opened his mouth, but the girl lifted her pant leg up, exposing a prosthetic. “I don’t have one either. I didn’t lose it like him…but he… Knowing a superhero has one… helps.” She shifted again and let the pant leg slide back over it.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked gently.

“Morgan Peterson,” she responded, brushing her long hair over her shoulder. “Is he gonna be okay?”

“Well, Morgan,” Steve looked down at Bucky before back Morgan. “He will be. Thank you. I have to ask… Where are your parents?”

“I’m here with my grandma,” Morgan pointed at an old woman sitting on a bench next to a walker.

“Okay, here…” Steve maneuvered his body—careful not to compromise his hold on Bucky—to pull a business card out of his back pocket. “Take this and get a hold of me in a few days. I want to do something for you. Because of your assistance.”

Morgan hesitated before reaching for the card. “I don’t…”

Steve shook his head. “Please. You’ve been so kind to Bucky. And he needs as much kindness as he can get.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rogers,” her eyes bright.

Steve fought off a smile. “Please. Steve. Call me Steve.”

“Thank you, Steve. I hope Mr. Barnes—”

“Bucky,” Steve said. “Go ahead and call him that.”

Morgan smiled. “I hope Bucky gets better. And thank you again.” She glanced at Bucky before hurrying off to her grandmother, chattering excitedly.

Steve let his shoulders fall and leaned down, his lips close to Bucky’s ear. “Bucky. Buck, come back to me.” Bucky groaned and leaned against Steve. “Take your time, Bucky. Come back to me when you can. I got you. You’re fine, Bucky.”

Bucky blinked and saw a white. But not snow. It was cold, but not freezing. Tile. It was a tiled floor. Bucky finally heard Steve whispering his name.

“Oh my god,” Bucky mumbled to the floor. He felt his body slump further.

“Buck,” Steve whispered, relieved. “Oh, Bucky.”

“What…?” Bucky tried to push himself up to look around but Steve pressed his palm flat on Bucky’s back.

“No. You were triggered by a picture and I don’t want you to see it,” Steve whispered. Bucky could feel his breath puff against his face.

“I don’t think I could move anyway,” Bucky muttered, letting himself relax in Steve’s hold. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Steve asked, upset.

“I ruined a perfectly good Sunday,” his voice cracked, and he felt tears burn his eyes and slide down his cheeks. “You were supposed to have a nice day at the museum looking at art and I couldn’t keep it together.”

“ _We_ were supposed to have a nice day at the museum,” Steve amended. “Today wasn’t supposed to be about me. It was supposed to be for both of us.”

Bucky sniffed and turned his head to lay it in Steve’s lap. “Okay,” he muttered, voice thick with tears. Steve adjusted how he knelt so Bucky could curl around him more comfortably. He ran his fingers over Bucky’s scalp and ignored how people were clearly staring at them. Bucky looked up at Steve and tried to smile. Steve wiped Bucky’s wet cheek with his thumb. Bucky let out a long and shaky breath before closing his eyes.

“There’s always tomorrow, Buck,” Steve whispered. Bucky hummed and listened to Steve’s soothing voice. “Just take your time.”


	2. Tsundoku

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsundoku (Japanese) – the act of leaving a book unread after buying it, typically piling it up together with other such unread books.

“Bucky, no,” Steve said, pointing at the massive armload of books Bucky was carrying towards him. They had decided to take a trip to Barnes and Nobles—which had tickled Bucky’s funny bone the first time he’d heard about “a store named after me, Stevie! They clearly named a bookstore after me!”

“Look,” Bucky said, resting his chin on the highest book. If anyone other than him was holding it, it surely would have fallen. “Look. I am going to read them.”

“Uh huh,” Steve said, nodding as he placed an art book he’d been looking at back on the shelf. “You have how many books piled in your room?”

“Did you know,” Bucky said, deciding not to answer Steve and instead gently pulling a book out from the pile in his arms. “That Howard wrote a book?” He shoved the book with Howard Stark’s face on the front of it at Steve. “And there are three chapters that are basically love letters to you? All written by him.”

Steve took the book and looked at the light blue cover and dramatic black font. **A Stark Nation: an autobiography**. Steve scoffed and flipped open to the front flap.

From failed flying cars to mentoring Captain America to fathering Iron Man, Howard Stark lived a full life. Take a journey as Howard himself reveals just what made him tick. Originally published a year before his untimely death, the third edition of this novel reveals more about Howard’s life—and death—than ever before, including previously unpublished chapters written by his trusted butler—Edwin Jarvis—as well as co-SHIELD founder, Peggy Carter. With another snarky forward by his only son, this novel is a must read for anyone interested in just how the superhero business got its start.

Steve scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You want to read that?”

“I’m also getting another Captain America comic book,” Bucky grinned, letting Steve place the book back on the pile. “It’s about the Commandos.”

“Dammit, Bucky,” Steve muttered. “You don’t need more—”

“It’s Stark’s money!” Bucky retorted. “I’m not paying for it. _You’re_ not paying for it.”

“Look, if you die in some freak accident because a shit ton of books fell on you, I will say I told you so,” Steve said, looking at the titles Bucky was holding. Most of them had something to do with the Avengers or Operation Rebirth or the Incident in New York.

“ **Official Avengers Cookbook**?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Steve, they have some real 1940s recipes in here. A whole section for you.” Bucky made a disgusted face. “Well, actually, a whole section for _Captain America_.” He rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay. And a…children’s picture book? Titled, **Steve and Me**?” Steve raised his eyebrow, skeptical.

“It’s a book about friendship and…loss.” Bucky looked away from Steve’s intense stare.

“Oh,” Steve breathed. “I’m sorry. I—”

Bucky shook his head and let out a long, shaky breath. “No. It’s fine. And, uh, I’m ready to check out now.”

“Tell me about the other books you’re getting,” Steve offered. “And let me carry some.”

Bucky shrugged. “I got it. I can carry ten times this. It’s nothing.”

Steve said nothing, but pleaded at Bucky with his eyes…which Bucky couldn’t deny.

“Alright, alright… punk,” Bucky grumbled, letting Steve take several books into his own arms. He glanced at the book resting on the remaining pile he carried and laughed. “Oh, oh yeah. I forgot I grabbed this one.”

 **Bucky: the Man who Ruined America**.

“What… is that about?” Steve hesitated, looking at the muted rainbow background of the book Bucky was laughing over. The title was sepia brown and covered the entirety of the cover.

“Did you know, I ruined you?” Bucky asked sweetly. “I soiled your innocence, Mr. Captain America.”

“Is that… speculation that we…” Steve paused, face turning red. “What would it even matter?” He exclaimed. “Who cares if—”

“There are ‘eye-witness’ accounts in here,” Bucky said, trying to suppress his giggles. “Old stuff, from like, people back in the day, and then stuff now that people have posted on twitter or whatever. It’s such _shit_.”

“Are you…disgusted by gays?” Steve hesitated, faltering slightly as he followed Bucky to the front. Bucky hadn’t said he remembered anything about… certain things. Things that happened before and even during the war. Just two tired souls clinging to each other when death breathed down one of their backs, two cold souls clinging to each other when death breathed down both of their backs, two souls who needed each other to function at their fullest, two souls who couldn’t—

Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking at Steve. “Of course not. Love is a beautiful thing. Do you?”

“God, no,” Steve answered almost too quickly. He paused and let out a long, quiet breath. “Do you…” he finally spoke, considering if he could ask Bucky if he _did_ remember or not. Bucky’s expectant gaze stopped him. “…want to get coffee after this?” He jerked his head in the direction of the in-store coffee shop.

“I will never turn down coffee, Rogers,” Bucky responded, placing the books on the checkout counter. Steve gently set the rest down.

“Are you okay doing this yourself? So I can order the coffee?” Steve asked, half turned away from his friend.

“Vanilla mint latte,” Bucky said in lieu of a yes or no, pulling out a Stark-issued credit card and a Barnes and Noble membership card.

Steve stepped away, looking back once, before getting in line. He saw a young woman wearing a shirt emblazoned with his shield, reading a heavily annotated copy of **The Story of Hawkeye** , a pen between her teeth, muttering something.

The deep-blue haired man behind the counter smiled when he saw Steve.

“Hey, man. Back again, huh?”

Steve ducked his head in a smile. “Yep. Can’t seem to keep Buck away from here for very long.”

“What can I getcha?” the man asked, fingers poised over the screen in front of him.

“A vanilla mint latte and a black coffee.” Steve dug into his pocket for money.

“You need something sweet in your life, Cap,” the man said, eyes flitting to Bucky who, when Steve turned around to look, was laughing, head thrown back at what the employee scanning his books was saying.

“I know,” Steve grumbled, turning back to face forward. “I just…” Steve exhaled and pulled out a ten dollar bill, not even waiting for the other to tell him the total. “Keep the change, okay?”

“Thanks,” he said, putting the change in the tip jar. “Any particular name you want me to call out?”

“Um…” Steve chewed the inside of his cheek. “Jamie.” He grinned brightly.

“Jamie,” the man said, writing it on the order. “Yeah, it’ll be out shortly.”

“Thank you,” Steve said, moving to the side, out of the way. He glanced at the checkout counter again and saw Bucky was not longer there. He cranked his head around, trying to find him, when he felt the hood of his jacket being tugged back.

“How did you get behind me?” Steve asked, exasperated, as Bucky appeared on his left side.

Bucky shrugged, holding two double bagged sacks full of books in his left fist. “Secret assassin skills?” he offered.

Steve rolled his eyes and jabbed Bucky with his elbow. “What do you wanna do now?”

“Can we go to—” Bucky started.

“Jamie!” the barista called.

Bucky turned to Steve, betrayed when Steve retrieve the two coffees from the counter.

“How _dare_ you!” Bucky whispered harshly, in mock offence. “Only two people were allowed to call me that!”

Steve bit his lip, stifling a laugh, and handed Bucky his latte. “Where did you wanna go?”

“IKEA,” Bucky said, sipping his drink obnoxiously. “I need a new bookshelf.”

Steve groaned and took a large swig of his drink. “Already?”

Bucky shrugged, sipping his drink louder. “Already.”


	3. Saudade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saudade (Portuguese) – the feeling of longing for something/someone you love and which is lost.

People seemed to forget that Steve had bad days too. They failed to realize that he lived and died and somehow lived again in a time both different and not so different from him own—new technology, but the same thirst for war. But he needed to be strong for Buck, even when he would often wake with a start at four in the morning, heart pounding and eyes unfocused, a scream begging to claw its way out of his throat. He can’t untense his muscles for the better part of an hour afterwards.

_I’ve been out longer_ , he rationalizes with himself. _I should have already coped by now. Bucky just barely woke up from a fifty year nightmare…_

_I have it easy by comparison._

Sam tried to say something one evening when they decided to watch the third Hobbit movie. Bucky had expressed interest in watching it, but Sam pressed his hand on Bucky’s chest, pausing him.

“What?” Bucky asked. “I loved the book. And visual effects nowadays are great.”

“It’s pretty intense, I don’t know if you should watch it,” Sam responded, cautious so as to not hurt Bucky’s feelings.

“‘ite,” Bucky said, shrugging. “I have books to read.” And he left.

Sam turned to Steve, eyebrow raised. “It’s that easy?” Sam asked skeptically.

“Buck’s pretty chill about it,” Steve said. “He’s aware we’re just looking out for him.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed…” Sam muttered, putting the disc in the player. “He seems like a pretty stand-offish guy.”

“He used to be a lot more open,” Steve said, brow furrowed.

Sam faced him and tilted his head. “Hey, you okay?”

“Fine,” Steve said briskly. “You want popcorn or something?” He stood and made for the kitchen door.

“Man, look, if you’re having a rough time with Bucky’s memory problem no one’s gonna hold it against you,” Sam said. “And no.” He sat on the couch. “I don’t want popcorn.”

“I’m making some anyway,” Steve said, closing the kitchen door after entering it. When the door finally clicked closed, he slumped against the counter, fighting off a tightness in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his palms against them. “Okay,” he rasped to himself. “Alright.” He straightened and went to make the popcorn.

Steve returned to the living room to Sam staring at the title menu, fiddling with the remote. He looked up at him, watched him sit down and put the bowl between them on the couch.

“Steve. You know that I—” Sam started.

“Play the movie,” Steve said, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth, slightly muffling his words.

“Okay.” Sam pressed his lips together tightly and turned back to the movie, pressing play. “I’m just making sure you know the offer to talk is there.”

Steve shrugged, not looking at Sam, trying to focus on the movie.

He couldn’t.

Bucky was stretched across the couch of their shared apartment when Steve returned, holding **The Hobbit** up with his left hand while another, untitled book laid open across his chest. He circled something with a pencil and tilted his head to look at Steve, hair splayed behind him.

“Is it a movie I could watch?” Bucky asked, laying the pencil over the dip in his throat.

Steve hummed, looking to the side. “On a good day, yeah,” he said, thinking about how he had found Bucky curled up in a blanket on that very couch this morning, shaking and scared from a nightmare.

“Yeah, I might watch it in a couple days,” Bucky said, directing his attention back to the book. “I don’t know though…”

“Why?” Steve asked, sitting in an armchair to Bucky’s right.

“I don’t like the Hobbit?” Bucky offered, closing the book with a resolute snap. “I mean… I know that I used to?”

“It happens,” Steve said, picking at a nonexistent piece of fluff on the chair. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, shoving the other book onto the floor with a thump and placing **The Hobbit** on top of it. He sat up. “Made something from that cookbook.”

“Oh yeah? What?” Steve looked at Bucky now.

“A stew or something,” Bucky said, scratching the side of his scruffy cheek. “It was okay. I probably made it wrong.”

“You made great stew when I was littler,” Steve remembered.

Bucky shrugged. “I’ll probably remember eventually.

Steve nodded briskly. “I’m beat,” he said quickly, looking at the digital clock on the wall; it read 10:46.

“It’s not even eleven yet,” Bucky said, squinting at Steve. “You feeling okay, grandpa?”

“It’s autumn,” Steve offered. “It’s gettin’ colder. I’m feelin’ kinda sluggish.”

“You are literally a super human. You don’t get colds.” Bucky scooted to the right of the couch, closer to Steve. “You okay?”

Steve opened his mouth to say ‘Yes, of course,’ but nothing came out. He looked frantically around the room before standing, shaking his head.

“I’m fine, Buck,” Steve said, heading for his room. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Steve,” he heard Bucky call after him, obvious concern in his tone. “Wait, did I do something wr—” Steve shut the door and thudded against it, sliding to the floor, head in his hands.

“‘m fine, Buck,” Steve mumbled, voice thick. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Promise.”

He felt a soft knock on the door and Bucky’s small voice.

“Talk to me, Stevie,” Bucky was saying. He sounded close, like he was crouched down.

“Just forget this happened, Bucky,” Steve pleaded. “I’ll be fine in the morning.”

There was silence for several seconds until Steve heard a long exhale and a gentle rap of knuckles on the door.

“Okay,” Bucky said. He sounded further away, like he’d stood up. “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

Steve pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, resting his cheek on his kneecap. He sniffled and sighed and swiped his face with his arm.

Clearing his throat, he finally clambered to his feet and laid face down on his bed, kicking his shoes off. He dragged himself up to the top of his bed and gripped a pillow, hugging it to his chest. He shoved another pillow to his face and finally let out a sob, shaking. He hit the bed with his fist, feeling his chest tighten. He pulled his covers up over his head.

Writhing in mental and emotional anguish, Steve wept into his pillow until he finally, _finally_ fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

Steve only woke when he felt a large, warm hand on his shoulder, shaking him.

“Steve?” Bucky asked, gently lifting the covers off of him.

Steve cracked his eyes open to stare up at his best friend. His head pounded and he felt absolutely exhausted.

“Buck?” Steve furrowed his brow, glancing out the large window in his room. It was still dark out. “I told you we’d talk in the morning.”

“You told me that almost twenty-four hours ago,” Bucky said quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed near Steve. “Have you been sleeping that entire time?”

Steve tried to lift himself up, but his arms shook too hard. He groaned and let himself fall back on the bed. Bucky shifted closer to Steve, smoothing Steve’s messy hair with the palm of his hand, feeling his overheated forehead.

“I…” Steve tried. His eyes searched the fabric of Bucky’s jeans, frantically tracing the tiny crosshatching. “Bucky.” His voice cracked and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“You can tell me anything, Steve,” Bucky said, taking Steve’s ear between his forefinger and thumb, rubbing it.

“I miss you,” Steve whispered, turning his face into the pillow. He took a shaky breath and turned back to Bucky. “I miss you so much, Buck.” He choked on a sob and pressed his face into the side of Bucky’s dense, muscled thigh. “It _hurts_ , Bucky. It feels like there’s this giant cavity in my chest and it _aches_ ,” his voice caught on the word and he coughed, tears streaming down his face.

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky whispered, manhandling Steve so he could lie down next to him, holding him against his chest. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky and pressed his wet face against his chest. “I’m right here, Stevie, and I know I don’t remember everything…but I love listening to you talk about the past.” He rubbed Steve’s back and nuzzled the top of Steve’s head with his nose. Steve cough-sobbed again and gripped the back of Bucky’s shirt.

Bucky’s heart hurt, maybe not in quite the same way as Steve’s did, but it still ached. He missed Steve too, knew that he _didn’t_ remember everything about their friendship and that nearly killed him almost every day. Sure, he did know that Steve used to be small and he would need taken care of, protected. He had mostly got over Steve’s physical change during the war, but he didn’t remember getting over it now… And still, even this Steve was different than the Steve he’d left during the war. This Steve that woke to a world changed was harder and sharper and Bucky just wanted to smooth those edges…

Steve hiccupped and Bucky fought a smile.

“What’s something you remember fondly?” Bucky asked.

“Oh gosh,” Steve mumbled. “There’s just so many.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asked. “Any good kitchen memories?”

Steve nodded jerkily. “Oh god, yeah.” Steve chuckled and pulled back from Bucky’s solid torso to look at him.

“Well, are you hungry?” Bucky offered. “We can make a mess and you can tell me about messes we’ve made in the past.”

“Yeah, that sounds fun,” Steve said. “I’m pretty hungry, now that I think about it.”

Bucky reluctantly withdrew himself from Steve’s hold, stood, and put his hand out for Steve to take.

“Alright,” Bucky grinned. “Let’s do this.”

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am trash and apparently start things I cannot finish..... I am still working on Rusted Silver . But, I wanted to do something different for NaNoWriMo.... so there's this... (I DIDN'T EVEN FINISH THIS.) I will update this every week.


End file.
